Malcolm catches Iggy’s eyes; Iggy nods. “We accept the offer, sir. Thank you, again. We promise to be quiet.”
“It’s fine, boys. Washroom’s through dere.” He points to a door left of a simple sink basin and ancient refrigerator. “Well water’s good t’drink. Don’t b’fraid t’share body heat.”
After hanging their clothes to dry on a wash line by the stove, McRainey retires behind a curtained area diagonal from the heat source—his bedroom? Now that they’re alone, Malcolm takes his time studying the cozy, rectangular space. There isn’t much furniture besides the rocking chair, and a pine table with two matching chairs that look handmade. The most striking things are the two deer heads on opposite walls, as if staring each other down across the space, glass eyes glinting in the flickering stove light.
Then he notices the fox pelt on the wall above the stove, its russet fur art-like the way it’s hung. A decorative rug hangs over what he assumes is a window, based on placement and height. Three stuffed birds are chilling on a large branch nailed into the wall behind the front door. He catches Iggy observing the same things.
“Guess he’s not so lonely, huh?” Malcolm asks. “With all these friends.”
Iggy laughs, and it’s his first smile in what feels like hours. It’s enough. Malcolm and Iggy make a nest of blankets, and they’re not afraid to share their body heat for the restof the night…
Chapter
Nine
Iggy paid the breakfast check, and he wasn’t surprised when he and Malcolm both ordered coffees to go. Their food had arrived not long after Iggy’s ridiculous comment about Malcolm showing interest in Old McRainey’s property. Who knocked on someone’s door and said they wanted to buy their house?
People in rom-coms, maybe, but not real life.
It had, however, made Iggy incredibly curious how McRainey was doing now, all these years later. And if he’d remember one of the teenagers he’d once saved from nearly drowning in a tent, because they hadn’t thought to check the weather forecast. Not that Iggy would dare drive out to the property.
He hadn’t forgotten the gun rack near the cabin’s front door.
Without being asked, Iggy drove over to West Maple Street and parked in front of the house Malcolm pointed out. He could just see the side of a cream-colored camper at the end of the driveway, hidden by a few trees, and partially blocked by Malcolm’s pickup.
“Seems quiet for a house with four kids,” Iggy quipped as he shifted into park. He left the engine idling.
“They’re probably all out at activities or errands.” Malcolm ran one fingertip around the rim of his coffee cup’s lid. “Saturday’s are pretty crazy with stuff, and it’s the one day Melissa tries to take off for the kids. Sometimes, if she gets a good rate for wedding hair or something, I’ll help out with driving everyone around, but…she’s doing real good.”
The pride in Malcolm’s voice and smile warmed Iggy. He’d never had a real conversation with Melissa Ricardo, and he hoped to one day soon, especially with the way Malcolm talked about her. Her kids, too. Iggy wasn’t huge on kids, but he could fake it for Malcolm’s sake. He was also seriously glad no one else was home, so he didn’t have to make an excuse not to meet everyone today. Things with Malcolm already seemed to be barreling forward, what with them spending the night and having breakfast. Despite no real sex lines having been crossed, there had still been intimacy.
“I’m glad she’s doing well,” Iggy replied. “It’s not easy. Starting over after your life crashes and burns.”
“Yeah.”
Malcolm’s hesitation hinted at another request, something to prolong this interaction, so Iggy blurted out, “See you at one o’clock, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you at one.” With another long stare that made Iggy’s insides quiver, Malcolm got out and strolled down the driveway, past the garage, toward his camper.
Iggy took a few centering breaths, then backed out of the driveway and headed toward the highway.
Spendingtwo hours with Uncle Howie and speaking to both his internist and his neurologist put Iggy in a stellar mood whenhe left the hospital for the sports fields. Howie was alert, able to stand and go to the toilet with help, and his appetite was good. He had all kinds of things scheduled for this afternoon, like visits from both a physical and occupation therapist, plus a swallow test.
If all went well, he’d likely go home on Monday.
“He’s extremely lucky he was brought in when he was,” the neurologist had said. “And that the ER attending preemptively gave Howie the antitoxin. I’ve read papers about the long-term effects on patients with botulism toxicity, and his recovery is, quite frankly, remarkable.”
Iggy had done some reading of his own, and the stories he’d found were heartbreaking. Young people left immobile for months, some never regaining their full strength again. He wanted to give Malcolm a medal for listening to his gut and breaking down the door. Uncle Howie wasn’t fixed, and he wouldn’t be back to normal anytime soon, but his recovery could have been so much slower.
Stupidly, it didn’t occur to Iggy until he was searching for the correct baseball diamond, that he was about to spend time with Malcolm’s sister and nieces/nephews, because of course they’d be here watching Tommy play. The sports center had three diamonds, all of them occupied by games in different innings, other uniformed players wandering around just because it was opening day.
He texted Malcolm, who seemed to appear in the moving crowd of parents, friends, kids, and players like a mirage in the desert. He wore a blue ball cap with a bird on it. “Tommy’s team is the Blue Jays,” Malcolm explained. “We’re over this way. Game’s about to start.”
Their field had a small set of metal bleachers, but at least half the crowd was seated on lawn chairs or standing. Iggy was stunned by the sheer number of onlookers, but some localitiestook little league very seriously. What was more American than ranches and baseball, except maybe apple pie?
Melissa was seated on the oddest contraption Iggy had ever seen, and it took him a moment to realize it was a canvas wagon that converted into a two-person bench. Everything she’d hauled there, including a green cooler, was stacked behind the bench-wagon, and more than just her three kids seemed to be running around nearby.
She wore a blue visor and a Blue Jays sweatshirt, and she stood to shake Iggy’s hand. “You seem shorter when you’re not behind the bar.”
